


Troubles Domestic

by jdmcool



Category: Sherlock (TV), Thick of It (UK)
Genre: Kink Meme, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-08
Updated: 2012-05-08
Packaged: 2017-11-05 00:49:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/400062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jdmcool/pseuds/jdmcool
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a thin line between love and hate. Especially when married to a man like Malcolm Tucker.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Troubles Domestic

**Author's Note:**

> Written for this lovely little[prompt](http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/19351.html?thread=114798743#t114798743) at the Sherlock BBC Kink Meme. Why there isn't more of this pairing I will never understand.

John really wished that Sherlock could’ve timed the complete and utter ruin of 221B Baker street a bit better. It wasn’t as though he even minded the experiments any more, but considering that the place was filled with some kind of noxious gas Sherlock had managed to cook up, no one was allowed to be inside for the day. Thankfully, Mrs. Hudson was away visiting her sister anyways and it hadn’t been much a problem for the day but then night came and John was left with the unfortunate fact that he wouldn’t be in his own bed and definitely didn’t have anyone who would share theirs. It was the fact that led him to agreeing to follow along after his friend when the man announced that he knew of the perfect place to stay.

It was for that reason he was sitting in the home of Mycroft Holmes, awkwardly sipping tea while the two brothers stared each other down. He was long past the point of trying to understand what their every subtle twitch meant and instead tried to hold in the urge to complain about how rude they were being holding some insane conversation through the power of silence and micro expressions as usual.

“Right, don’t know if you got to this point of the conversation, but thanks for letting us stay here,” John said, unable to put up with the way Sherlock was hunched forward next to him. He didn’t know if the man was being aggressive or defensive or wanted a blood seal cake and he didn’t care. He just wanted anything but silence.

Mycroft smiled, perking up like he had only just remembered that he was there. “Of course. It’s of no problem.”

At that, Sherlock arched a brow curiously or accusingly. Honestly, John just wanted to smack him in the back of the head for their current situation. Mycroft’s reply to whatever Sherlock wasn’t saying was to merely sip his tea.

“Nice place, you have here too,” John said, simply needing to prevent the silence from settling.

And, really, it wasn’t as though it was a lie. It was a nice place, not quite what he would’ve expected from the man given how homey it was. All carefully assorted knick knacks and against soft coloured walls. It looked like something straight out of a homing magazine and certainly not the kind he would’ve expected Mycroft to even look into. Looking around the room, the man nodded in agreement with him.

“He’s not the one who actually picked any of this out,” Sherlock pointed out, obviously bored with the idea that some people liked to carry on making pleasantries.

John looked at Mycroft, who seemed rather bored with Sherlock’s boredom and steeled himself for the argument that was bound to start up sooner rather than later. Yet another reason he should’ve put up some sort of fight when Sherlock suggested that he knew the perfect place to stay for the night.

“You must think you’re just the fucking king of fuck all, don’t you?!” Came a voice from the door.

Perking up, stared at the man who had just entered, wondering how he could’ve possibly have gotten in. Certainly anywhere with someone as important as Mycroft living there had to be monitored somehow. Have someone around to keep the truly bat shit insane from wandering in like the greying man had.

Walking over to Mycroft, the man glared daggers at him. “You know what my plan for the day was? I was going to help down those pathetic shitwits at DoSAC keep their flabby arses safe from harm when I get a fucking call from that giant quim, Atkins about how there was an incident at Number 10, Mycroft. An incident to which I had handled the day before, Mycroft.”

Mycroft sighed as he held up his hands. “That... incident, as you like to call it, had to be made public to keep other matters at bay. I was rather hoping you’d understand, Malcolm.”

“Great! So in others words, you fucked up and had to make a national scene to keep an international one under wraps?! You know, I should’ve known around lunch when I felt a little bit of rumbling in my belly that it was just you with your arm elbow deep my fucking arse trying to make a show of his puppet!” Pacing back and forth like some kind of caged animal, the man shook his head. “I should be dead of cancer from how much I’ve been on that mobile today. All so that you could look a wee bit better during your little circle jerk with those cock jockeys and continue to go unnoticed while the opposition is probably sitting about with their thumbs up their arses rubbing one out to the field day you’ve given them.”

“If you’re done—“

“No, I’m not fucking done, you pretentious, inbred, canary fucking poofter! You know, next time you feel like fucking me like I’ve got the cure for cancer up my arse protected by a cum soluble barrier, please, leave some kind of message with Sam. At least then I won’t be caught wondering why I feel like I was gangbanged by the British Government, Mycroft.”

“Sherlock and his flat mate, John, will be staying here tonight. Troubles at Baker Street,” Mycroft said, completely unphased by the rant the other man had just thrown at him.

“I hope this doesn’t inconvenience you, Malcolm,” Sherlock said, catching John off guard since the man couldn’t recall the last time Sherlock cared about inconveniencing anyone. He lived to inconvenience. Heads in the fridge, experiments on the table, never getting any kind of approval before using John’s things.

Staring at them with his mouth slight agape, Malcolm looked like he was caught between flying off into another curse laden rants and attempting to kill them all outright. There was a horribly disturbing look in his eyes that rather gave John the impression that he already knew what to do with the bodies should he get away with it. Rubbing at his jaw, the man nodded in silent agreement though.

“No. No inconvenience at all. First time in months I’ve been able to get here at a decent hour when Mycroft is not only around, but actually free and you’re staying over with a friend.” Turning toward Mycroft again, Malcolm stood toe to toe with him as he prodded him in the chest and said, “I’m actually starting to think you plan these things. Got it penned down in your little diary: fuck Malcolm over all day, leave him to hang after dinner.”

“Who is he again?” John whispered a bit nervously to Sherlock.

Frowning at him, Sherlock perked up the moment he remembered whatever it was he had forgotten to mention before. Going over to Malcolm, he placed an arm around the man’s shoulder, heedless of the look of death he was given and said, “You two have never met. Malcolm, this my flatmate John Watson. John, this is Malcolm Tucker, director of communications for the prime minister, officially. Unofficially—“

“There is no unofficially, Sherlock.,” Malcolm warned.

“You’re as much a simple communications director as Mycroft is a minor anything in the government.”

“Hold on. We’re not interrupting anything are we?” John asked Mycroft, worriedly. The last thing he wanted thrown into his day was the disruption of some big government thing.

Mycroft looked over at Malcolm and shook his head though. Toying with one of his rings, he said, “Of course not. Malcolm tends to be here a lot considering that... Well, how to put this delicately.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake man! I’m his fucking husband in case you missed the way captain subtlety is fingering his fucking wedding ring,” Malcolm said with a roll of his eyes.

Shock, John looked between the two men and tried to picture... No, he didn’t want to picture it. But Mycroft being married? Sure, he always wore those rings, but John had come to consider them more of a bit of flare rather than anything as significant as being married. Certainly John liked to think that he knew the man as much as actually possible given the fact that Mycroft took pleasure in being a veritable mystery.

“Look, I need a drink and to change. If I stay in this suit any longer I’m likely to hang myself with my own fucking tie,” Malcolm complained a bit half-heartedly. Turning toward Mycroft, he patted the man’s shoulder, kissing him briefly before walking off.

Completely nonplussed, Mycroft merely smiled at him and Sherlock before saying, “I suppose I’ll go get dinner ready.”

John waited until he was gone before going up to Sherlock and poking him in the chest. “You didn’t tell me your brother was married to some irate Scottish man.”

“Funny. That’s exactly how mummy tends to describe him as well,” Sherlock mused. Taking note of the annoyed look on John’s face, he sighed. “Who Mycroft involves himself with is not my concern unless Malcolm does actually kill one of those MPs he’s constantly complaining about.”

“Right. Because then you have to help Lestrade catch him,” John said with a roll of his eyes.

Sherlock scoffed. “Hardly. I have to keep Mycroft from making him disappear. It wouldn’t be farfetched to say I’m more fond of him than my brother is.”

“Wait. Are you saying—“

“Nothing so droll as that. I genuinely like Malcolm. He’s no Holmes, but he’s infinitely more clever than a great number of people out there. Now sit down and relax. Dinner’s certain to be nothing short of a blood sport.”

And John should’ve known taken that as his cue to run because when dinner time came around, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was in over his head.

Sitting at the table, he picked at his food a bit nervously, eyes occasionally glancing at Malcolm, who seemed no less threatening in his fleece and casual slacks. The fact that he seemed to be getting on with the Holmes men was even weirder. Sure, he was apparently married to Mycroft, and John was still trying to process that, but Sherlock was never this friendly with anyone but him.

“And that would be the obvious cause Mr. Fuller’s death,” Sherlock declared as though he had just performed a magic trick.

If Malcolm’s amused look was anything to go on, one would think he had. Smiling, the man said, “That’s fucking brilliant. I mean, not just some nutter offing her husband like that. I mean, that I understand, but you? You’re almost clever.”

“And that was almost amusing,” Sherlock shot back, clearly not missing the slight jibe.

“Perhaps we can switch the conversation to something less gory?” Mycroft suggested in his dutiful host tone.

Smiling politely, John nodded in agreement, ready for anything other than the way Sherlock bragged about killing methods while Malcolm hung on his every word. The fact that two men such as those two were even permitted to know each other had to be a crime against nature.

“Right,” Malcolm started. “Sherlock, did you know that your brother has absolutely no regard for people who serve him no purpose?”

“Oh for... Malcolm, I hardly think this any better.”

Sherlock nodded. “I know that rather well. The only time I ever hear from big brother is when he literally acting as big brother.”

“That’s what happens when you let control freaks run the CCTV. He has to have all the power. Even diets to keep his own body in line.”

“And it’s not as though he does it well considering all his little indulgences,” Sherlock said.

Elbowing the man, John glared at him. “Sherlock behave.”

Malcolm snickered, waving his fork in front of Mycroft’s face. “Indulgences? That’s putting it nicely. There’s nothing little about them.”

“Oh and that’s not even counting all the times he kidnaps John just to know how I’m doing,” Sherlock continued, deriving some kind of pleasure from the conversation.

“If you were just a bit less lazy wouldn’t need to diet, Myc.”

John didn’t know if he wanted to smack Sherlock or Malcolm, but he knew when he looked at Mycroft, the perfect image of the calm before the storm, that he didn’t want to get involved if he didn’t have to.

Wiping his mouth, Mycroft stood. “Malcolm, meet me in the kitchen if you would?” He asked before making his way out of the room.

Sighing, Malcolm watched him before looking at Sherlock with a sympathetic look . “I don’t see how you ever managed to live with him,” he said before making his way out of the room as well.

“We should... I don’t know. Talk?” John offered somewhat miserably, trying to ignore the fact that he could clearly see both men working up to something he didn’t need to be aware of.

Sherlock merely pushed his plate away and frowned as he looked towards them. “Why?”

“I don’t know. They could be having a very important conversation.”

“They’re having a domestic. Mycroft is upset that Malcolm and I get along. Malcolm, well, he’s still pissed about whatever it is Mycroft did today,” he said as simple he would deduce anyone else.

Which was fine, when it was other people, but this was his brother and John just couldn’t shake the fact they shouldn’t have been attempting to eavesdrop, no matter how easy they made it. After all, they were kind enough to let Sherlock and him stay the night. Certainly there had to be some kind of rule against enjoying your host have a row with his husband. 

“Yeah? Well fuck you, fat arse ponce,” Malcolm’s voice rang out.

Clearing his throat a bit loudly, John shook his head and tried to focus on his food before giving up.

“It’s like watching your parents fight,” John said, trying to subtly watch them. After all, it wasn’t as though they could’ve actually expected any sort privacy in there.

Sherlock smiled as he watched more openly. “My parents are not nearly as interesting when they fight.”

“This is wrong. We should eat.”

“You eat. I’m watching my brother-in-law get fucked over for a second time tonight.”

John shook his head. “And you said you like him? Geez. I mean, I liked Clara, but I showed that by actually being nice to her. Not sitting idle while Harry ruined things.”

Not that Sherlock seemed to be paying any mind  to him. No, his attention was fully focused on the kitchen where the conversation only seemed to be increasing in volume on Malcolm’s part, Mycroft’s voice staying perfectly calm and emotionless like a good iceman.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Myc!”

“Shut up. This conversation is over. You, Mr. Tucker, are going to go in there and behave like a good little man, not because I told you to but because if you don’t I will make what I did today seem like nothing. I will surgically remove that fleshy stump you call a prick and I will stitch it up your arse so you will always remember how you fucked yourself over and then I will ruin career, are we understood?”

“Messing with me—“

“Has no bearing on me as you can be replaced. And if that doesn’t work, Cal Powers and the opposition will get their go at things. Understood, Mr. Tucker?”

Malcolm stood there looking utterly defeated before nodding. “Whatever you say, sir.”

Looking away quickly when they walked back into the room and took their seats, John tried to think of anything worth saying since it was obviously on him. Mycroft and Sherlock were sharing looks again and Malcolm, well, he just looked as though he was awaiting the perfect moment to unleash pure hell on someone.

“So, John,” Malcolm started, making jump slightly. Even knowing that the man was picking a victim didn’t make it feel any better when the victim turned out to be him. “I hear you used to be a soldier.”

“A captain, yes.”

“Tell me about it.”

Which was how John became the centre of the evening after that. Thankfully, everyone decided to call it a night fairly early. From then on it was just a matter of sleeping through the night and praying to every god known to man that their home would be fine by morning. Though, when he woke up later that night from a nightmare, he figured he should’ve been praying for a solid’s night sleep.

Getting up he made his way to the bathroom, hoping splashing a bit of water on his face might at leat calm him down a bit. It didn’t, because it never actually did, but the wandering made him feel a bit better. Making his way back to his room, he opened the door and stopped when realized that definitely should’ve been paying more attention to where he was going.

Standing there like a deer in the headlights, John knew that he should leave. Should just leave and go back to his room, but a much larger part was simply astonished by the various ways Mycroft Holmes managed to surprise him today since he never would’ve expected to catch the man having sex. And his inability to do nothing but stand there wasn’t his fault and it didn’t make him a pervert, he told himself.

After all, he’d never really given any thought to Mycroft being a sexual being, but the sight before him made it a bit hard to ignore. That pair of thin legs wrapped around his waist, the way they clenched around him with every thrust. His hair was utterly disshelved from the way Malcolm was gripping at it. With the way he was lying there, panting desperately as Mycroft’s hips sped up, hand fisting his cock. Crushing his mouth against Mycroft’s, Malcolm kissed him like a dying man before his whole body seemed to tense up as he came.

Tearing himself away from the scene as quietly as possible, he made his way back to the guest room. Determined, John tried to block out everything that he’d just seen so that he could simply forget it and go to sleep.

“It’s their foreplay. The Christmas he brought Malcolm home I caught them in my father’s study,” Sherlock mumbled as he cuddled up to John.

“Thanks for the warning,” John muttered sarcastically as he rolled onto his side and held the most annoying person he had ever dated.

* * *

“I’ll be home tonight, but Thursday I’m needed in Belgium,” Mycroft said as he buttoned up his shirt.

To look at him, one might actually think that he woke up looking so prim and proper. Not a hair out of place nor a hint of tiredness in his eyes despite only having been up for an hour. An admirable skill, since Malcolm often found his age making him look worn out when even when he wasn’t.

“What the fuck could you possibly have to do in Belgium?” Malcolm asked as he tried to decide between a red and blue tie for the day. Pressing against his back, Mycroft took the red one away from him and put it on himself, eliminating the issue altogether.

Not that Malcolm minded, really. Putting it on, he turned toward Mycroft and smirked. Going over to him, he ran his hand down Mycroft’s tie. “How long will you be in Belgium for?”

“These things take time.”

Nodding as though he actually cared, Malcolm began to slowly button the man’s waistcoat only to unzip his trousers. Slipping his hand inside, he relished the way Mycroft closed his eyes in pleasure when he found his target.

“Half hour?” He offered.

Mycroft nodded. “I suppose I can afford a delayed start today.”

“That is a very good thing to know Mr. Holmes because I—“

Furrowing his brows at the odd thumping, Malcolm looked toward the wall before looking back at Mycroft. Catching the look of mild disgust, Malcolm had to asked, “Is you brother and his flatmate going at it in there?”

Clearing his throat, Mycroft said, “You can remove your hand from my trousers, thank you.”

“Well that’s just rude, they are,” he complained, doing as he was told. Looking at Mycroft, he shook his head. “Lunch then? Or will you be too busy starting a bloody conflict within the EU or something?”

Mycroft merely chuckled before kissing him, lingering until the rhythmic thumping became too loud in the silence. “I’ll be sure to notify Sam about the solid fucking you’ll be getting for lunch.”

“Office sex. Can’t wait,” he said, clapping his hands like an excited little girl. When Mycroft merely rolled his eyes, doing his best to look unamused, Malcolm stopped and nodded toward the door. “You should be going.”

“Talk to them about their... noise for me,” Mycroft said as he left.

Which was really all Malcolm needed to hear. Going to sit in the living room, he pulled out his phone to call Sam. He’d hate for them to think he was slacking off somewhere when he was doing important work. After all, he wasn’t just shaming someone for the sake of his husband, he was doing it for the sake of the government itself and that fact never got old.


End file.
